


Noir et Rouge

by koushi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koushi/pseuds/koushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noir-style, mafia AU: always-a-girl!Arthur is a dangerous femme fatale who is also in love with Cobb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noir et Rouge

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have no claim to Inception or any of its characters.

You wouldn't want to get on her shitlist.

Born with a chip on her shoulder (her parents wanted a boy and were unpleasantly surprised), she always felt she needed to grow into her masculine name, Arthur. Although feminine in nature, she forced herself to play catch and run through the mud, refused to wear skirts or makeup. But no matter what she did she never seemed to rise to their expectations.

By the time she reached adulthood, she was a messy jumble of man and woman, the characteristics indistinct and unrefined in her. It was, however, under his tutelage that she realized her full potential: he taught her to embrace her inner womanhood. He trained her in the subtleties it took to seduce, to draw the target in, and to strike, if necessary, the coup de grâce, without so much as a whimper from the victim. With his bare hands, he created a deadly artist.

She stared out of the 15th story window, past the fire escape, dimly lit by a flickering lamp, into the darkness of the alley beyond the next building. He took that path without fail. But where was he now?

The hotel room was clean and plain, or at least it would appear to be if one were able to pierce the darkness with night vision. It was populated by a queen-sized bed as its centerpiece, a small table with a couple of chairs, and a vanity on the left wall. The door to the bathroom was closed.

Arthur crossed and uncrossed her legs, fidgeting in anticipation colored by the sinking sensation of dread, her garters stretching and relaxing along with the movement. Rubbing at the knee of her nude stocking to check for a nick, she leaned forward, her dark curly hair cascading off of her shoulder. What if something had happened to him? She felt blood rushing to her temples: if this had transpired, she would make sure that the perpetrator suffered for hours in screaming agony.

She felt footsteps through the floor, the vibrations echoing through the aged wood beneath her stiletto-clad feet. Jumping up, she clutched the handgun stored within the belts of her unmentionables and held it steadily beside her as she stood with her back to the adjacent wall, peeking over the corner with each breath. Arthur waited for further signals.

Click. She raised the weapon, ready to aim it at the intruder. She'd made a lot of enemies in her time as Dominick Cobb's right-hand woman, his slithering cobra, his personal assassin, and it wasn't an unforeseeable turn of events that they'd tracked her down. A deep breath. So this was the culmination of years of preparation.

The door pushed open. She swung herself around the door to press the muzzle against the trespasser's chest, growling low, "The fuck are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too," Dom's voice rang back with a complete lack of fear. As her eyes became adjusted to the bright light peeking in from the hallway, her master and lover gradually appeared before her in a charming black suit over a matching waistcoat and simple gray button-up shirt. He wore a burgundy tie and a fedora that eclipsed his brows.

Her heart flooded with delight as she became aware of his presence, tucking the gun into her black lacy brassiere, which peeked out from under her long cream blouse of silk, buttoned only halfway.

Arthur dove in madly, wrapping her arms around his neck and sprinkling his face and neck with light breathy kisses, the scarlet of her lipstick smudging his skin. "I've been waiting so long, Dom. I missed you."

But instead of holding her to him as she desired, he remained cold, distant, his own arms staunchly glued to his sides. She pulled away reluctantly, studying him. There was something different today… an air of resignation.

"Look. Don't even start," Dom chided, although he was clearly more annoyed with the present situation than with Arthur. "I can't stay for long." An incredulous gaze from her eyes made him wince internally. I don't want to say these words either, baby, he thought, but it had to come out sooner or later. "I came only to tell you something."

"I'm sorry, but this is the last time that we'll be rendezvousing in a place like this. From now on we meet only at the warehouse, and our relationship will be… strictly professional." This is not happening. Arthur now released him completely from her grasp, taking a step backwards, her expert hands trembling uncharacteristically, perfect posture quivering.

"You had to have seen this coming, beautiful," Dom shrugged. "I told you from the beginning this was purely casual and could end at any time." But stupidly… I let myself fall, Arthur wanted to reply. And likewise I thought you felt the same way. Her vision fogged as tears formed in her glassy brown eyes, now clouded by a layer of despair. Don't you see? I'm broken in two.

"Anyway, Mal's waiting in the car. So I have to go," he cleared his throat awkwardly, implying the reason for this confrontation. He focused his eyes on a speck in the wood grain rather than acknowledging her shattered form. "I'll have your new assignment on Monday." He tipped his hat and turned to leave.

Smashing through her wall of stunned shock, Arthur leapt forward, her stilettos like darts stabbing into the floorboards. She took his hand, guiding him back around, and pressed it to her icy cheek, the warmth momentarily stalling the chill that enveloped her body.

"Don't go," she murmured, dimming her eyes demurely. Maybe, maybe if she kept herself tied together she could use his teaching against him. The tall slender woman tried not to betray her anxiety as she took this last leap of faith.

She kept one hand on his while the other moved down to her chest, deft fingers unbuttoning her silk shirt one by one, until the pale, spotless skin of her abdomen was revealed, in stark contrast with and wedged between her black bra and garter belt. She wore no bottoms.

He showed obvious signs of internal struggle, gulping loudly as his Adam's apple swiveled upward. She was irresistible… she was unreal. "I-I have to."

Arthur shook her head with the barest of movements, although her curls shifted teasingly. "No, honey," she smirked, her voice hoarse and throaty. "There is only one thing you need to do."

With a quick motion, she pulled the gun out of one of her cups, pressing it back against Dom, this time the hollow point jutting menacingly into the bulge under his trousers. She let his hand go, leading him towards the bed by the tie as if it were a leash.

He couldn't help but match her grin, basking in the delicious grip of his temptress but also biting guilt as he imagined his wife sitting alone in their vehicle, with only his briefcase there to remind her that he was returning.

"Now," Arthur whispered as she pushed her hostage on his back so that he lay sinking into the covers. She climbed onto the mattress without removing her heels, the sharp points creasing deeply into the fabric and creating small cuts, sitting herself on his chest and assuming total control over his existence. "Where were we?"

All it took was a hard piece of metal jammed into his mouth, clicking against the teeth, and the faint taste of gunpowder on his tongue to make him undeniably hers.

***

By the time she awoke, he was gone, this time for good. She rolled herself onto the empty spot, which was still faintly warm and smelled of him, his distinct musk, and their union, the sweat soaked into the sheets. She inhaled longingly.

Arthur knew that by then that Mal would have become distraught, hysterical with impatience, prying all the details out of her husband when he finally slinked up to the car, disheveled and reeking of sex. He would have sullenly agreed to relocate, apologetic for his lusty transgressions. His wife would have also, as a final hurrah, contacted one of his enemies in the city, informing them of Arthur's whereabouts.

She clutched the sheets tightly, her French-manicured nails digging into the linen. By this time they would have sent some men to take her. That was how this business worked. And because of the magnitude of her crimes against the group, they wouldn't kill her on the spot. Rather she would be tied, gagged, and dragged into the headquarters for interrogation, i.e. torture. They would have their way with her until her body became black with bruises and numb with pain, until she begged for sweet, sweet death.

But until that time came, she was complete. She had her knives, her pistol, and her Dom, his scent intertwined with hers, his memory burned into her mind's eye as if she'd stared into the sun, and his essence still trickling out of her.

This was all Arthur needed. And damned if I won't put up a hell of a fight, she mused, a devious smile curving onto her face. Because, after all, she was pure fucking danger.


End file.
